Part 24 (1/2)

Whose burden will then be the heavier? However, it doesn't matter, because it's borne for your sake. And this much I know: that terrible struggles are awaiting you; that daring thoughts are growing in your mind; and that I can never share your struggle, never help you with advice, never defend you against those that vilify you--but still I must look on, and through it all I must go on living in my own little world, employing myself with petty things which you do not appreciate, but would miss if they were not attended to. Olof, I cannot weep with you, so you must help me to make you smile with me. Come down from those heights which I cannot attain. Leave your battles on the hilltops and return some time to our home. As I cannot ascend to you, you must descend to me for a moment. Forgive me, Olof, if I talk childishly! I know that you are a man sent by the Lord, and I have felt the blessing with which your words are fraught. But you are more than that--you are a man, and you are my husband--or at least ought to be. You won't fall from your exalted place if you put aside your solemn speech now and then and let the clouds pa.s.s from your forehead. You are not too great, are you, to look at a flower or listen to a bird? I put the flowers on your table, Olof, in order that they might rest your eyes--and you ordered the maid to take them out because they gave you a headache. I tried to cheer the lonely silence of your work by bringing the birds--whose song you call screaming. I asked you to come to dinner a while ago--you hadn't time. I wanted to talk to you--you hadn't time. You despise this little corner of reality--and yet that is what you have set aside for me. You don't want to lift me up to you--but try at least not to push me further down. I will take away everything that might disturb your thoughts. You shall have peace from me--and from my rubbis.h.!.+ (She throws the flowers out of the window, picks up the birdcage, and starts to leave.)

Olof. Christine, dear child, forgive me! You don't understand me!

Christine. Always the same: ”You don't understand me!” Oh, I know now what it means. In that moment in the sacristy I matured so completely that I reached my second childhood at once!

Olof. I'll look at your birds and prattle with your flowers, dear heart.

Christine (putting aside the bird-cage). No, the time for prattle is gone by--from now on we shall be serious. You need not fear my boisterous happiness. It was only put on for your sake, and as it doesn't suit your sombre calling, I'll--(She bursts into tears.)

Olof (putting his arms around her and kissing her.) Christine!

Christine! You are right! Please pardon me!

Christine. You gave me an unlucky gift, Olof, when you gave me freedom, for I don't know what to do with it. I must have some one to obey!

Olof. And so you shall, but don't let us talk of it any more. Let us eat now--in fact, I feel quite hungry.

Christine (pleased). Do you really know how to be hungry? (At that moment she looks out of the window and makes a gesture of dismay.) Go on, Olof, and I'll be with you in a moment. I only want to get things in a little better order in here.

Olof (as he goes out). Don't let me wait so long for you as you have had to wait for me.

(Christine folds her hands as if praying and takes up a position indicating that she is waiting far somebody about to enter from the street. Pause.)

[Enter Olof's Mother. She pa.s.ses Christine without looking at her.]

Mother. Is Master Olof at home?

Christine (who has started to meet her in a friendly way, is taken aback for a moment; then she answers in the same tone). No, but if you care to be seated, he will be here soon.

Mother. Thank you! (She seats herself. Pause.) Bring me a gla.s.s of water. (Christine waits on her.) Now you can leave me.

Christine. It is my housewifely duty to bear you company.

Mother. I didn't know that the housekeeper of a priest could call herself a housewife.

Christine. I am the wife of Olof with the sanction of the Lord. Don't you know that we are married?

Mother. You are a harlot--that's what I know!

Christine. That word I do not understand.

Mother. You are the same kind of woman as she with whom Master Olof was talking that evening in the beer-shop.

Christine. The one that looked so unhappy? Yes, I don't feel very happy.

Mother. Of course not! Take yourself out of my sight! Your presence shames me!

Christine (on her knees). For the sake of your son, don't heap abuse on me!

Mother. With a mother's authority I command you to leave my son's house, the threshold of which you have defiled.